Ding dong! At the door stood Francois Hollande

Ding dong! At the door stood Francois Hollande with a bag of croissants waggling his eyebrows. I clutched at the door frame, my world imploding as my nether regions exploded with

an avalanche of orgasms. Even the waggling eyebrows of a not-so-sexy chief of state wearing a dorky scooter helmet could set off my persistent sexual arousal syndrome. Paris Match

Set! Orgasm Avalanches are really hard to achieve. Once they happen though, look out. You have to "swim" with the cascading orgasms to survive. One minute the Orgasms are frozen

dandruff shudder from follicles and sweats pour forth from glands that ruddy the dermis. A monsoon of saliva and engendered fluids from other regions pour forth, combining.

I tried not to get lost in his wild, lost eyes. Interviewing Charles Manson was more than I'd bargained for. "What else?" I prompted,pretending to look at my notes. "I am the I AM.

I've seen The Devil and I offered him my soul. But he didn't want it. He said my work here wasn't done." Now I was really feeling nervous. "And, Mr. Manson, what else do you have

to offer me in terms of trade?" The devil stared at Marilyn Manson, unmoved by the prospect of acquiring the musician's soul. "Ever been backstage at a rock concert?" He asked Luci

fer. "You call what you do a rock concert?" Lucifer's eyes ate away at Manson's gilded personality. "You're a bigger idiot than I had imagined." Lucifer left Marilyn for more

grapes in the silver bowl left on the linen-covered table. Not to be confused with Lenin, but that didn't matter now. What mattered was how big Manson's